Descent Into Darkness
by Ari Munami
Summary: A prequel to Interesting Times, mapping the other Harry's journey into evil. What exactly turned this Harry from the light? Chapter 2: A year-and-a-half on from Sam's death. Just how are the Potters coping?
1. Default Chapter

This is a prequel to Interesting Times. If you haven't read Interesting Times. just click on my name and off you go! Thank-you!  
  
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS  
  
1: SAMUEL POTTER.  
  
"Mum, mum, PLEASE can we go! Please!" piped up Sam's voice, as Lily hesitated.  
  
"Oh, let them go, Lily," said their grandmother from her chair, where she sat reading a book. "They'll only be down the road a little way. It's perfectly safe."  
  
Lily looked at her mother for a minute, and then nodded. "You're in charge, Harry," she said to her oldest son. "Now mind you look after Sam. And Sam," she turned to her youngest, "you have to do *everything* that Harry says. And neither of you go anywhere *near* the river. And it looks like rain, so if it starts, come back *straight away,* alright?"  
  
"Yes mum," the boys chorused.  
  
Before she could change her mind, Harry had grabbed hold of Sam's wrist and yanked him into the hall.  
  
"Thanks, mum!" he called behind him.  
  
"Mind you're back for tea!" Lily yelled after them.  
  
As Harry shut the door, he heard his grandmother say, "you worry too much, Lily."  
  
BANG.  
  
***  
  
The Potter family was staying for a week with Lily's parents. They lived in a small and tight-knit village in the south of England. Although they liked their grandparents, by the second day both of the boys were very, *very* bored. There were hardly any other children about for them to play with, and because the village was completely populated by Muggles, they couldn't do anything out of the ordinary at all, and neither could their parents. Finally this afternoon, after a lot of pleading and whining and the occasional bit of encouragement from Mrs Evans, their mother had consented for them to go to the woods down the road from the Evans house to play for a few hours. Harry was feeling rather important having been 'put in charge' because he was only just eight; and Sam, at five, thought that anything without parental supervision was an enormous adventure.  
  
They ambled down the road, careful to look for any 'cars' as the Muggles called them; through a field, over a stile, and into a thick, pine-filled woodland.  
  
They spent the next hour or so throwing pine cones at trees, chasing each other about, and generally acting like boys do.  
  
It was starting to get very humid. When they had set out from the Evans's house there had been a cool breeze blowing, and now it was gone. Harry was feeling hot and thirsty, and had one of those annoying, dull headaches you get when you've been out in the sun too long.  
  
"Come on, Sam," he said to his brother, "let's go home now."  
  
Sam, who was industriously building a structure out of twigs, earth, and bits of grass, shook his head. "No."  
  
"You have to do what I say," returned Harry, "mum put me in charge."  
  
"I don't want to."  
  
"Well, I've said we HAVE to. stop being stupid!" he tried to pull Sam up from where he was sitting, cross-legged on the ground, but he couldn't manage it.  
  
"Sam!" he said exasperatedly.  
  
Sam looked up slowly from his little endeavour with the sticks to regard his brother with solemn eyes. "Mum said to be back for tea," he answered, "it's not nearly tea yet. So we don't have to go."  
  
"And I say we *do* have to!"  
  
Sam didn't reply, and instead looked down again at his 'masterpiece.'  
  
The humid weather was changing, to the atmosphere it becomes just before a storm. Harry looked up, trotted away from the safety of the trees, and saw that dark, ominous clouds were crossing the sky. A cool wind whipped round him and he shivered, clad only in a thin T-shirt and shorts. The entire scene had lost its brightness, was darker somehow. The clouds covered the sky.  
  
"It's going to rain!" he shouted triumphantly to Sam as he walked back to where his brother was sitting. "We *have* to go home now."  
  
"Don't want to," piped up Sam, "can't we go to the river, Harry? There's frogs and fish and all sorts in there."  
  
"We're not allowed," said Harry, frowning slightly. In truth, he would like to go to the river; but he knew what *both* his parents would do if they found out they had. With or without Voldemort, they were rather protective of their sons.  
  
But the thought of a nice drink and perhaps a chocolate biscuit banished any of these longings from his head. He shook his head when Sam pleaded with him. He still wouldn't budge.  
  
"Right then, I'm leaving," he said loudly, "I'm going home, and telling mum that wouldn't do as I told you to, and you'll get in lots of trouble."  
  
This ploy usually worked with Sam; he *was* only five, after all.  
  
Harry began to walk away, knowing that in a few seconds, Sam was sure to follow, wailing about not leaving him. Indeed, after a moment Sam *had* stood up, *and* was wailing at him, but was certainly not following him. Instead, Sam stamped his foot, and turned away in the opposite direction.  
  
"Fine!" Harry yelled. He felt that boiling anger that wells up overwhelmingly in you and lasts for only a little while. "FINE! I'll just leave you, then! I don't care!"  
  
With that, Harry stormed towards home, leaving his little brother under the trees. When he was very nearly back to the cottage, the anger had subsided, leaving him pensive. He knew he would have to go back and get Sam, otherwise they would both be in a lot of trouble. He knew that Sam knew this, and was probably waiting for him to crack and go back to find him, rather than the other way around. Well, Harry was too tired to try and prove a point.  
  
He turned back. He had just reached the main road; so he crossed over the stile again and began to walk through the field. It began to rain and Harry shivered, colder than he had been before, and rapidly getting damp.  
  
By the time he had reached the trees, it had turned into a complete downpour. He huddled underneath this natural shelter, feeling large drops of rain splodge from above onto his neck. His glasses were steaming up; he took them off and rubbed them on his T-shirt.  
  
"Sam!" he called, "Sam! I'm sorry, alright? Let's go home now."  
  
But there was no answer.  
  
Harry walked through the wood, still calling. Sam was nowhere to be seen. At first he thought he was just being punished for leaving him behind, that he had hidden himself somewhere. But twenty minutes later, Harry had to concede that Sam was not in the wood. He felt terribly nervous, somehow.  
  
Then it occurred to him that Sam had probably gone home by himself; that was it. He was probably back at the cottage right this minute, drinking hot chocolate and talking to Gran.  
  
Harry walked through the wood again to its opening, and then raced through the soggy field. He slipped on the wet grass and fell heavily. Harry was very grateful that Sam wasn't there to witness this; he would have never heard the end of it.  
  
It was still pouring it down as he arrived at the house, teeth chattering, soaked to the bone. He opened the door and entered, turning into the first room on his left, where his grandmother, father and mother were sitting, staring straight at him.  
  
Harry greatly admired his charismatic father, and wished James to be proud of him. But whenever James was there, Harry would feel awkward, and shy, and would close in on himself, thinking nothing he could say or do would be interesting enough for his big, important dad. James had noticed this gap between them, but did not know the cause of it.  
  
James stood up as Harry walked in, looking relieved.  
  
"Harry. your mother told you to be back as soon as the rain started. What. where's Sam?" he added suddenly.  
  
Harry's stomach twisted painfully and fell through his shoes.  
  
"But. but isn't he here?" he stammered, looking around at the three adults.  
  
"What do you mean?" said James. "You didn't get separated, did you?"  
  
Harry swallowed, the gnawing pain in his chest increasing every second. "W- well. he was being stupid and he wouldn't come. but I went back for him, and he wasn't there! It wasn't my fault!"  
  
James sighed angrily. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, he's only five! You were supposed to look after him! If anything's happened, it's your own fault!"  
  
Lily jumped in at this point. "James, don't frighten him," she said softly. She stood up and crossed over to Harry, putting her arms around him. "Don't worry Harry. I- I'm sure he'll be back soon."  
  
"Boys will be boys," put in Mrs Evans comfortably.  
  
James scowled. "Well, I'm going to go look for him," he snapped. "It's pouring it down."  
  
"I'll come with you," said Lily quickly. "Get your coat, James. We'll be back soon," she added to Harry and her mother. James didn't say anything. Harry could tell he was really angry. He felt sick.  
  
The sickness and the worry got stronger every minute that his parents were away. It was made worse by Mrs Evans, who drank her tea in silence, only adding now and then a "oh, I'm sure he'll turn up soon," or a "he's probably playing hide-and-seek, the little dear." Each comment made Harry's stomach jump painfully.  
  
An hour passed- the longest of Harry's life- before his parents returned, soaked through, but with no Sam. Lily looked extremely anxious and very strained. James's mouth was bit into a thin line as he bit out, "I'm calling the police."  
  
Harry began to cry, very quietly. He sat on the squishy sofa, hands and knees clasped together, nose itching, tears running down his face. He didn't want to sob; he didn't want anyone to notice him, and remember that this was his fault in the first place. He sniffed heavily.  
  
Then his mother was there, sitting next to him, putting her arms around him; a little comfort. Harry leaned into her, sobbing into her thick, rough jumper, smelling of the rain.  
  
And all the while Mrs Evans said, "he'll turn up."  
  
***  
  
It was getting dark when the police arrived. They asked to speak to Lily and James alone, but the door was slightly open, and Harry could see in- he saw a slit of blue, the policeman's uniform; a flash of red- his mother's hair. Muffled voices.  
  
"I'm very sorry, Mr, Mrs Potter- I'm afraid we've found a body in the river, washed downstream a few miles. We believe- we believe that it's your son."  
  
His mother breaking down, being supported by her husband.  
  
And Harry all alone, sitting on the staircase, tears running down his face, whispering to himself: "it's not him, it can't be him, he's alright. he'll turn up. *he isn't dead,* he isn't. they're wrong. they're only Muggles, they don't know. he's not dead."  
  
Then Harry gasped and stopped short, remembering Sam:  
  
*"Can't we go to the river, Harry? There's frogs and fish and all sorts in there."* It was true. his brother was gone. *Gone.*  
  
Harry raced up the stairs, dry heaving, slipping once, twice, bashing his head and cutting his knee open on a step, palms stinging terribly, up to his bedroom. He savagely slammed the door and lunged under the bed, where he lay, gasping and sobbing in the dark.  
  
Crying in the dark. Completely alone.  
  
***  
  
More to come, showing his relationship with both Lily and James, as well as more angst. Of course! Please review! 


	2. DID 2

Chapter 2 of Descent Into Darkness. Hmm... I don't know about you, but I find Dark!Harry *very* interesting. Also, this fic is not going to describe his whole life, but rather key events that led to what he became. I suggest you read Interesting Times first people, or this won't make a whole lot of sense.  
  
Anyway, onto:  
  
DESCENT INTO DARKNESS  
  
2: Books and Broomsticks.  
  
"It's just... he seems so far away from me, Lily," said James Potter, glancing out into the garden where his son Harry was reading under the Potter's large oak tree. "I know I'm not around as much as I should be- but still... I just- I just feel as if I don't know him at all."  
  
A year-and-a-half had passed since Sam Potter's death. To the outside world it seemed as if the family was beginning to get over their loss; but in reality, it was a very different story.  
  
The happy, close-knit family was no more. Instead, three strangers now resided in a rather frigid home, ill at ease with each other, and not knowing what to do with themselves. Lily had quit her Ministry job shortly after the funeral. Her excuse was that she wanted to spend more time with her only living child, but this was only half-true. She also had not been able to face work after the accident. Unable to face the sympathetic faces, the kindly meant questions of if she was alright. She was still a young woman, who had led an active, full life before her son's death. Now she rarely saw anyone, and spent all her energy on her remaining son.  
  
James had dealt with the grief in a very different way. In an attempt to forget, he had thrown himself into his work, allowing himself to only take a week off after the funeral before returning to his job. He was a bright, able man, who had been predicted for great things when he had entered the Ministry. These predictions seemed to be coming true now, and much faster than originally hoped.  
  
It was a blessing that Lily and James had such a close, loving relationship. If it had been anything else but the deepest love, it was very unlikely that they would still be together at all after such a damaging tragedy.  
  
And Harry... Harry. Friends of the Potters asked: how was young Harry coping with his brother's death? Each time, his parents would hesitate, and look at each other, unsure of how to answer. For how *was* Harry doing? In truth, his parents had little idea. James, in his bid to forget his pain, had hardly seen his son over the last year or so. Harry had grown even more solemn and quiet over the past months, and under his thick mop of black hair, his before-expressive eyes now held secrets he obviously had no wish to share. He had grown more into the person he would most likely become as an adult, and his mother had been the only one around to notice it. She saw that Harry was quieter than his father, more interested in books than play, more interested in understanding things than actually doing them. He would rather read about Quidditch than play it. This didn't matter to her, however. It was simply a fact. She still loved her son completely. And, although he didn't understand him and what made him tick, so did James.  
  
But did either of them know that Harry still hated the Muggles, blamed them for Sam's death because deep down he blamed himself? Did they know that Harry was afraid of the tall, now-stern man his father had become over the last year, always so serious about everything, and also blamed himself for it? Did they know that Harry was extremely upset that his father worked so much of the time, because inside he had an awful, sickeningly sneaking suspicion that his father blamed him for his other son's death, and so did not want anything to do with him? The answer was no, no, and most definitely NO.  
  
That afternoon, James had made an effort to spend time with Harry. He had thought back to when he had been Harry's age, what he had done, what he had liked. At nine, James had been a happy, mischievous boy who had got into terrible scrapes with his best friend Sirius. Therefore James had brought out his old broom and had endeavoured to teach Harry how to ride it.  
  
Harry was engrossed in a large and dusty book on the subject of Unplottable locations when his father found him, broom over one shoulder, a tired but genuine smile on his pale face.  
  
"Harry," he said. "Just the man I was looking for. It's a lovely day out. What are you doing cooped up in here? Come outside- I'm going to teach you how to ride a broom."  
  
Harry swallowed, slowly lowering both his book and his eyes to the ground before answering softly, "I don't want to."  
  
"Don't be silly!" said James, perplexed. "Of course you want to know how to ride! All the Potters do. Both Padfoot and I were in the Quidditch Team at school you know. It's in the blood. I can't understand why I haven't taught you before."  
  
Harry looked up at his father at his last words, and his eyes flashed suddenly with something that James had no idea how to interpret. In a split- second it was gone again, and Harry's face once again took on its solemn, unreadable expression. Once again an invisible but very real barrier had fallen between the father and son. After a minute Harry reluctantly got up from his chair and silently followed his father into the garden.  
  
James spent the next few minutes babbling on about the way to mount the broom, in a desperate bid to hide the strain between the two. Harry watched on silently. Soon it all came to a head.  
  
"Now, Harry," said James. "You try it, now. Just get on the broom like I told you, rise a bit in the air and then come back down. It's very easy."  
  
Harry had grown paler as he heard these last words, looking from James to the broom to the sky.  
  
"Actually... *ride?*" he asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"But I- I don't want to!" said Harry.  
  
"Don't worry, Harry. It's quite safe. All you have to do is-"  
  
"I don't want to, Dad."  
  
"Don't be a baby, Harry," said James, slightly exasperated. He held the broom out to Harry, and, when Harry didn't take it, tried to press it into his hand. "Just take the broom and-"  
  
"NO!"  
  
The cry was short and sharp and brought all conversation to a halt. Harry thrust the broom towards his father, his eyes flashing angrily. James looked bewildered.  
  
"Harry, I was only..."  
  
"Leave me alone!" was the reply, and with that, Harry took off in the opposite direction.  
  
James, very upset but as usual, unwilling to show it, went back into the house to find his wife. She was rather put out with him.  
  
"It's because you DON'T know him at all," she said to her husband, "and you know it. It's going to take more than one afternoon to make up for the time you've wasted, James..."  
  
"But you always seem so close to him," said James dully.  
  
"It's because I'm always *here,* I make an *effort,*" said Lily. "Honestly James, you can't just expect him to be into the exact same things you were at that age, it just doesn't work like that. He may look like you, but you are two very different people."  
  
"I know that," James grumbled. He sighed, then stood up, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go visit Sirius, Remus and Peter. Let Harry have a bit of time to cool down."  
  
"Running away from your problems won't solve them, James!" Lily called after him. James merely waved back at her without turning back around.  
  
After a few minutes, Lily went into the garden, walking up to Harry. He looked up at her with his normal, serious look.  
  
"Dad didn't mean to upset you," Lily said carefully, sitting down beside him. "He just wants to spend more time with you, get to know you better."  
  
Harry didn't say anything, but looked down at his book dully.  
  
"Tell you what," said Lily after a minute, "would you like to go to Diagon Alley? We could go to Flourish and Blotts... and get an ice cream. How would that sound?"  
  
Harry looked up at her, a genuine smile on his face. "Could we? Would I be allowed to get a book?"  
  
"We'll see," answered Lily, smiling back. Harry did love his books.  
  
The smile dropped a bit when Harry asked a bit apprehensively, "but- what about dad?"  
  
"He's gone to visit Padfoot," said Lily quietly, watching his reaction. At these words, Harry jumped up and took her hand.  
  
"Come on then, mum!" he said eagerly.  
  
***  
  
They travelled by Floo Powder up to the Leaky Cauldron. Although Voldemort was growing stronger, it was still safe to go to Diagon Alley, at least in the daytime. After they had arrived, Lily tapped the wall to bring them into Diagon Alley.  
  
They went to Florean Fortescue's first, where Harry was amazed because his mum allowed him to get a *huge* ice cream. They ambled down the Alley, pointing at the interesting things in the windows and laughing together.  
  
They finally reached Flourish and Blotts, Lily smiling as Harry *raced* in. In Harry's opinion, F and B's was the best shop in the *entire* world. He could spend the whole day there, just looking at the books.  
  
Lily wandered around the front of the shop as Harry rushed down the rows and shelved and stacks of books, stopping every so often to exclaim, "look at *this* one, mum! It's the second volume of the one you got me last month!" Or, "*this* one's *really* rare! It's been out of print for ages!"  
  
Lily had let Harry choose three books to buy, and he had just gone off to have one more look when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to meet the sympathetic brown eyes of Sarah Archer, a former work colleague. She smiled weakly at her.  
  
"Lily!" said Sarah in her soft voice. "I haven't seen you in *such* a long time... how are you holding up?"  
  
Lily swallowed, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Well, you know... it's one day at a time. I'm all right."  
  
Sarah searched her face, obviously not believing her, as Harry came back from his expedition to stand by his mother's side. Sarah smiled at him.  
  
"Is this Harry? I'm Sarah- I used to work with your mother. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about what happened..."  
  
Lily watched with a sinking stomach as the bright look faded from her son's face and he looked at the floor, clutching his books tightly.  
  
"Well- I'd better be gone," said Sarah after an awkward silence. "Lily- if you need anything, anything at all, *please* do owl me. Don't be a stranger. Good-bye, Harry." Giving Lily a parting hug, she left the shop.  
  
Lily paid for the books in silence, looking worriedly at her son. Just as they had both put their hurt away for an afternoon, someone had to dredge it up again.  
  
And all that Harry was thinking was: *why can't they all just leave me alone?*  
  
***  
  
Aargh! SOO depressing! This is the most depressing chapter of everything I've ever had to write... well, except chapter 11 of Interesting Times. Poor everyone! Sam's death has changed James from a happy-go-lucky prankster into a really worried person who won't show his emotions, especially towards his son. Lily and especially Harry are well screwed up too. Oh dear. But please review! 


End file.
